


Chicken Soup for Two

by elletromil



Series: Chicken soup is good for the soul [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3727609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/pseuds/elletromil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing they never tell you about becoming an adult is that if you live alone and you’re sick, then you are completely and utterly fucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Soup for Two

**Author's Note:**

> So lately there are all those goddamn ‘imagine your otp!aus’ posts floating on tumblr, so of coutse I got inspired by one.
> 
> This is my take on the “We’re both sick and we both grabbed for the last can of soup at the store au” (from this list http://andrastescrotch.tumblr.com/post/102430847507/a-list-of-my-favorite-aus-i-tried-to-rescue-you) Hartwin style of course.

The thing they never tell you about becoming an adult is that if you live alone and you’re sick, then you are completely and utterly fucked.

Eggsy has felt under the weather for a few days already, but it’s only now that he actually has some time free from work, two marvelous days where he doesn’t have to go in and sit before a computer feeling like his brain is slowly getting thrice the size of his skull, that it really hits him.

He would have pitifully crawl to his mum’s if it wasn’t for the fact she is on vacation with her new and fortunately not an asshole boyfriend. Even if right now, Eggsy isn’t feeling so charitable towards the man who is taking his mother and baby sister to a quick tour of France while he is still stuck in London, giving more thoughts than he should about finding a zombie so it could remove his brain from his head. He would probably find his fevered thoughts highly entertaining once he is no longer sick, but right now, he just wishes there was an off switch.

His empty stomach isn’t helping his case either and he drags himself from his mattress painfully, falling to his knees before his pantry, quietly sobbing when he realises it is empty. He’ll have to go make a quick trip to the store and just hopes he won’t faint on the way there.

*

Harry hates being sick. Unfortunately being a gentleman spy doesn’t prevent one from catching the common cold and he’s been blowing up his nose in tissues for the past week.

He would still be lying in his bed, trying to forget about the rest of the appallingly healthy population, but he also need to eat and Merlin is unfortunately too busy making sure James and Richard come back in one piece from their mission to bring him food. He could always order in, but what he wants is chicken soup. _Craves_ might actually be a better term for it, because he feels that a bowl of soup is just what he’s missing to make that cold become a bad memory.

Which is why he’s standing in front of the nearly empty shelf of soup, reaching out for the last can of chicken broth. That would be it, except for the fact that another hand wraps around the can at the same time as his and Harry is still _way_ out of it because he just now notices the boy standing a few steps away from him.

He turns towards the soup thief with the intention of scaring him off of what is _his_ but whatever he had wanted to say dies a quick death after only one good look at the young man.

Saying he looks like death warmed over would actually be far too generous. It’s a wonder he’s even up and about and Harry can only hope he wasn’t driving in his condition.

“Ah, shit, sorry mate, I-” whatever he wanted to say, it’s cut off by an ugly cough. Harry winces in sympathy when the young man doubles over, mouth in the inside of his elbow. It’s a good minute before he can get his breathing back under control and by then Harry has already moved to support him with an arm around his waist. If there was any doubt left on Harry’s mind that the boy wasn’t as sick as he looked like, there aren’t any left once the young man gives the arm around him a surprised look, before turning equally surprised eyes to him. Harry knows he has gone beyond the line of propriety and will probably get an earful about minding his own business, but as soon as the stranger processes that the arm is actually supporting his weight, his lips stretch in a sheepish smile.

“Thanks mate-” he tries to stand on his own, but sway dangerously close to the shelves before Harry reels him back by the sleeve of his atrocious vest.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.” It was definitely the wrong thing to say because the blue eyes water at that and the young man seems seconds away from bawling in the middle of the store.

He doesn’t, for which Harry thanks whatever patron saint there is for spies, but he does sniffle a bit suspiciously. “I know, but I was hungry.” His stomach growls as if to underline the truth of his statement.

“Couldn’t you send someone for you?” His only answer is a pitiful shake of the head and Harry really is far too nice because even if he sighs, the next thing he does is giving up on his soup, “take the can then.”

The blue eyes widen in surprise, but the young man is already shaking his head. “No, no I’ll be fine.” Another coughing fit denies what he just said.

“I must insist. You obviously need it more than I do.”

“No, no, you had it first. Anyway I’d probably just end up burning my place down,” he laughs weakly at his poor attempt at a joke, but only manages to make Harry worry more.

“Do you have anybody to help you right now?”

The wobbly lip is all the answer he needs. He has a quick flash-back to his first time being sick at Uni, alone and away from home, the hopeless feeling that comes when you are sick and no one seems to care. He also remembers that Merlin forcing his way into his rooms to make sure he hadn’t died is one of the reason the man is still so dear to him.

“All right then, I guess you can come with me, there’ll be plenty enough for two.”

It’s the moment Harry realises he must still be feverish himself, because he’s just invited a perfect stranger home to share soup. However, he cannot bring himself to regret it when he sees the look of plain relief and gratitude the young man gives him right before he starts coughing again.

*

Eggsy wakes up on the best mattress in the world, covered in the softest and warmest blankets that have ever been made. He is still feeling like shit, his throat so raw it’s as if someone’s grate it, but his brain feels like twice the size of his skull instead of thrice and he is pretty sure his fever’s broke, which are good improvements compared to yesterday.

He rolls over and opens his eyes in panic when he can’t feel the edge of his bed. Which, now that he has his eyes open, is quite understandable because he’s actually not in _his bed_. He doesn’t have time to do more than think that maybe that dream about the fit older bloke bringing him to his home wasn’t really a dream, before the door opens slowly on said fit older bloke. As soon as he notices his waken state, he gets that gentle smile and comes inside the room.

“Eggsy, I’m glad to see you’re awake. Do you feel any better?”

Before he can say anything, he feels a cough coming and he is forever grateful for the glass of water that is offered to him wordlessly. He gulps it down before turning back to the man. “How t’fuck d’you know my name?” And, okay he could have been more polite, but he’s in some stranger’s house, unable to defend himself if he needs to, with a man who seems to know who he is.

“You told me yesterday,” the man answers, seemingly unconcerned by his brusque manners. “It doesn’t surprise me that you do not remember. You had quite the fever.” As he says so, he reaches out a hand so the inside of his wrist rests against his forehead. “Hmmm, still a bit too hot, but much less worrying than before. I am Harry Hart, in case you have also forgotten that. We shared chicken soup yesterday and I couldn’t let you go home alone in good conscience.”

He has some flashes of last night coming back to him now, of leaning against someone as he slowly walked down a street, gratefully sitting on a kitchen chair, talking about everything that came to his mind.

“Aww man I’m really sorry, I’ll be out of your hair right away.” He makes to get out of bed, only to be pushed back down by Harry.

“Nonsense. You still need to rest at least a few hour. Then you can go… But if you want to stay longer I would not be against it. I know how… _distressing_ it can be to be sick and alone. And I did enjoyed our conversation even if it was somewhat disjointed at times.”

And Eggsy really should know better than trusting strangers, but he honestly cannot remember the last time he’s felt as safe as he is now with Harry warm eyes on him.

Also, the bloke is seriously handsome and it wouldn’t be the strangest way Eggsy has gotten a date.

Even if it would definitely be in the top five.


End file.
